Life's Not A Fairy Tale
by dyingimmortal
Summary: It really isn't… but maybe a happy ending can still be salvaged. Embry/Lauren. Discontinued.
1. once upon a time

_Hi. Sorry for starting a new story, but the idea for it was beating me up, so I had to. There are two other stories I may be starting soon, too. Just a heads up._

_They're all part of the Imprint series, by me and -xAndromedaBlackx-. We're writing stories about each of the wolves (maybe even barely-mentioned ones like Collin and Brady, or whatever) and their imprints. Yeah. _

_This story was partially inspired by "Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth," the most hilarious story in the world of Twilight fanfiction (or at least one of the most hilarious stories in the world of Twilight fanfiction). It's by **Krum Cake**. I strongly recommend reading it, especially if you need a good laugh or some cheering up. It's made of win. Pure win. And that's a high compliment. :D_

_Now, onwards~  
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According to Leah, approximately fifteen people have died or been seriously injured (was it each year? I didn't really remember) from vending machines falling on top of them, because said people had been shaking the vending machines in hopes of a free soda, or trying to hijack it for the cash inside, or something.

She'd spouted off this factoid at me only last week, when she and I had taken a little sojourn to a local mall to buy some new clothing (we both needed new clothes because we kept phasing out of our current ones, and we were the only two wolves in Jake's pack who refused to wear the clothing the Cullens gave us—well, Quil wouldn't wear leechy-smelling clothes either, but he had been too busy with Claire that day to come shopping with us). We'd passed by a food court, and Leah had glanced at the vending machines there and then back at me, and then she'd told me that fact about vending machines falling on people. And then there'd been this Evil Glint in her eyes, and it totally said, "A vending machine falling on Embry doesn't seem like such a bad idea right now, you know?"

Needless to say, I had been very glad to move on past the food courts (even though it was unlikely a falling vending machine would kill me, because of the whole werewolf/shape-shifter/whatever thing, but still). Leah Clearwater was scary as hell when she wanted to be. (And she usually wanted to be. It sucked.)

Nothing had come out of that particular day except my newfound knowledge about vending machine deaths, though. Apparently, _someone_ (and it was _so_ not me) had forgotten the money (you know, to buy clothing) back at La Push or whatever. Leah insisted it was me (lies, all lies), and I insisted it was her, and we'd gotten into a rather loud and sort of violent argument about it in the mall, and we'd been kicked out by security guards… but either way, our plan to buy new clothes—and hopefully not rip them to shreds immediately—had failed.

Which was why we were going again today. Back to the same mall, back to find a clothing store, back past the food courts and the Evil Vending Machines of Doom… and this time, I had money with me. In my pocket. This time, Quil was with us as well—"Hopefully," Jake had said, amused, before we'd left, "he'll prevent the two of you from killing each other." _That_ kind little comment had been directed towards me and Leah.

Jacob never had any faith in us. I never would have killed Leah.

Just, you know, maybe severely injured her a little. Just a _little_. (If she made any more rude comments about my mom, that is.)

But I digress.

Anyway, here I was, shuffling awkwardly through a mall with Quil next to me. The poor guy looked distinctly uncomfortable, but I couldn't blame him… I mean, on his other side was _Leah_. If she decided to randomly blow up at me for no reason whatsoever, he'd get caught in the middle.

That, and he clearly wanted to be back at La Push, playing Ken to Claire's Barbie. Or maybe he wanted to be the Barbie, and Claire and her toddler friends could put makeup on him or something. Whatever Quil wanted, though, it was obviously not what he was getting right now.

We were attracting a lot of stares as we walked around, searching for a suitable clothing store to make purchases from. It was probably because of our height.

"You know, I'm hungry," Quil commented.

Leah shot him a disbelieving look. So did I.

"Well, I am," he muttered defensively.

"The sooner we get out of here, the better," I proclaimed.

"Yeah, the less time I have to spend around you two, the better," Leah snipped.

"Bitch."

"Bastard."

"Shut up, you two," Quil said mildly. He never yelled anymore—whenever he started to get mad, all he had to do was drift off into his dream world of Claire and her My Little Pony dress-up set or whatever and he'd be all calm again. "I'm going to go get a bag of chips or something; there's a food court and some vending machines over there. You wanna come?" he addressed this last bit to both of us.

"I'll go," Leah and I said simultaneously. She turned to glare at me.

"_I'm_ going," I corrected her.

"Whatever. As long as I'm away from _you_," she shot back. "See ya, Embryo."

"Don't call me that, bitchface."

If you haven't noticed, Leah and I weren't exactly the best of friends.

And I was going with Quil to a mall food court with vending machines now, without her around, which meant I didn't have to watch my back for falling vending machines that were falling because of her.

Score for Embry Call.

The nearest vending machine with chips was just across the… corridor, or whatever it was called, next to the food court that sold burgers and other fast food, on the other side of the corridor hall thing. (Whatever it was called. Yeah.) I didn't exactly make a habit of shopping at malls all the time. The whole werewolf thing kinda took a lot of my time away.

Anyway, the vending machines were right there. Four, count them. One sold soda, one sold bottled water, one sold ice cream, and another sold chips and candy.

The problem was, there was someone standing in front of the vending machine that sold the stuff (a bag of chips) that Quil wanted.

A blonde female someone.

A blonde female someone with really great legs.

A blonde female someone with really great legs who was _fucking shaking the vending machine._

Leah's fact about vending machines falling on people who shook them and then crushing them had not escaped my mind. I turned to look at Quil, who was staring at the sight with a sort of incredulous expression on his face.

"Did you know," I said to him, "that approximately fifteen people die each year from vending machines falling on top of them because they were shaking them in the hopes of a free soda?"

So I totally didn't know if it was each year or what. Big freaking deal. At least I _sounded _knowledgeable.

"Not a good idea for her to be doing that then, huh?" Quil remarked.

"No, probably not." I raised my voice, deciding to give the chick fair warning. After all, she had pretty great legs, from what I could see. That probably meant she had a boyfriend, and her boyfriend would probably be pretty disappointed if his girlfriend got crushed by a vending machine. (But if that happened, he could sue the mall and win a million dollars. It depended on what he'd like more, tons of money or a girlfriend. Probably the money. Such was the sad state of the world today. But I digress. Especially since I didn't even know if the girl actually had a boyfriend or whatever. Anyway…) "Hey! You there! With the blonde hair!" For a moment, I'd thought I was going to blurt out "the chick with the legs" instead of "with the blonde hair." Thank the love of all things good and holy and leech-hating I didn't.

The blonde girl turned around, pausing in her vending-machine-shaking, clearly wondering if the person who'd just shouted was directing his shout at her. She met my gaze with an irritated expression on her face, and the world exploded.

Seriously. The world fucking _exploded_. That's the only way I can think of to describe it. One moment, the world was perfectly fine and intact and all that shit, and then I met Miss Vending-Machine-Shaking's cool green (I _think_ they were green) eyes and the world blew up. Everything died. (Depressing, no?) Well, everything except me and that girl, that beautiful, amazing girl who was quite suddenly the only bright spot I could see in the whole entire dead universe. That girl who I was quite suddenly and forcefully (but willingly, of course) connected to with a really long white (it's guesswork here, people) beam of… light, I guess. (Shut up.) That girl who I'd just… oh,_ hell_.

"Hey, Quil," I said, tearing my eyes away from hers (it was very hard, let me tell you) to glance over at the friend I was referring to. He had a sort of shocked expression on his face, and his eyes kept flicking back and forth between me and the girl. "I think I just fucking imprinted."

"No kidding, I think you did," he breathed back. (I don't _think_ I've heard a single swear word leave his mouth since _he_ imprinted… on a two-year-old. Whose legs were not nearly as great as _my_ imprint's. Ha.)

"What?"

Oh, God, that _voice_. I recognized it immediately, and it was the most beautiful, smooth sound ever, comparable to a chorus of angels singing (even though no one's probably ever actually heard a chorus of angels singing, so who knows, maybe angels sang horribly… but everyone in history said they didn't, so whatever) and—

Crap. When did I get so mushy-gushy? I'd always been Embry, (usually) quiet and (often) reserved and (sometimes) sensible. I wasn't the type of person to start spouting sentimental romanticisms. (Ooh, big words.)

… oh, right. I'd probably gotten all mushy-gushy around the time _I freaking-ass imprinted._

Speaking of imprinting… "Were you talking to me?" the beautiful girl with the great legs and awesome voice demanded. Oh. My imprint was talking to me! Because… I'd called her before! To warn her about vending machines! I should probably respond then, huh?

"Um. Yeah." My voice came out kind of scratchy, and I cleared my throat quickly. "My name's Embry Call."

What about vending machines again?

The girl gave me a critical and sort of (I hated to admit it) snobby stare. But I'm sure I deserved it. After all, she was perfect. She could do no wrong. (Hey, I'd just imprinted on her, hadn't I? That proved it.)

"Well, if you're done hitting on me, then…" the girl let her sentence trail off before giving me another harsh stare and then spinning back around towards the vending machine.

"Ouch," Quil said sympathetically.

Ouch indeed. That _did_ sort of hurt. A lot.

… Wait. She'd just turned back towards _the vending machine._ Which she was now shaking again. _She was shaking the Evil Vending Machine of Doom!_

It was going to fall on her and kill her! I had to save her!

… Except that the vending machine didn't look like it was about to fall over anytime soon. Probably because my imprint was a girl. A slender, beautiful blonde girl with great legs in high heels.

… I needed to stop thinking about her legs.

… Anyways, she had thin arms. Thin arms that didn't look capable of bringing down a vending machine.

I silently thanked God—even though I'd never believed in Him, but whatever—for not making my imprint a weightlifter. It totally reduced her chances of dying a death (I don't care if that statement was redundant; shut up) by vending machine.

Completely ignoring the irony of that previous statement, I decided that since it was unlikely my imprint was about to die soon, I could just call her again and warn her of the possible consequences instead of rushing over and pushing her out of the way of the Evil Vending Machine of Doom. Something (common sense?) told me she wouldn't appreciate it very much if I did that.

So I called her. "Hey! Um…"

I had no idea what to say after that. I mean, I couldn't very well call her _the girl with the blonde hair _anymore, could I? She was my _imprint_—you didn't call your imprint stuff like that. I needed to find out her name.

But first, I needed to warn her about the vending machines.

Luckily, she seemed to recognize that she was being spoken to again… she probably recognized my voice. (I inwardly rejoiced at the very thought.) She spun around again, her long blonde mane of hair flying out behind her. _Wow._

"_What?"_ she snapped.

I determinedly ignored her annoyed tone of voice. Instead, I said, "Hi."

Ugh. Vending machines. Evil Vending Machines of Doom. Must focus.

"Ugh, are you, like, going to stalk me or something?" my imprint demanded. _No! I'm just going to love you forever! Because you're perfect and everything. _I really needed to learn how to be more eloquent. "'Cause this is already getting old."

Vending machines! Vending machines! The thought of my perfect imprint dying because of a stupid, evil vending machine finally made me focus on the issue at hand. "Um, I just wanted to tell you that approximately fifteen people die each year"—the whole each year thing made it seem more urgent, I decided, so I went with that, and besides, it was what I'd told Quil—"because a vending machine fell on them, 'cause the person was shaking the vending machine for a free soda or something, so you might wanna… be careful…"

My voice trailed off at the end, because the most beautiful—and only, in fact, at least for me—girl in the world was giving me a derisive look. "You've _got_ to be freaking kidding," she muttered under her breath, but I could hear her perfectly, and the beam of light (you know, the one that now connected us) twitched along with my heart. Not a very pleasant feeling, I assure you. Louder, the girl said, "I don't want a free soda, asshole." Asshole. Ouch. That hurt, it really did. "First of all, this thing doesn't _sell_ soda. Idiot," she added, for good measure. And she was so clever, too! "Second of all, the stupid thing ate my dollar bill. I'm trying to get it back. Third of all, will you quit staring at my legs, you perv?"

What?! I was so totally not staring at her legs!

… Was I?

I must have voiced this thought out loud, because Quil told me, "Actually, yes, you were."

Oh, shit. Now she hated me because I'd been gawking at her (I was unaware of that, but still, that was no excuse) like a perverted bastard. (And at any other time, I would've thought something along the lines of _Leah would agree, especially with the 'bastard' part, _but Leah was the farthest thing from my mind right now.) Stupid me! I suddenly had the urge to punch myself. Instead, I settled for, "Crap, was I really?"

My imprint seemed faintly amused now. She looked down her beautiful, dainty nose (oh, shut up) at me and informed me, "Yes, you were."

"Crapcrapcrap," I chanted. "Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

She looked like she wanted to raise an eyebrow at me but didn't quite know how. "Well… that's different," she commented, probably more to herself than me, but I wasn't complaining. "Most people don't _apologize._" This word was said the way most people said "rape." (Or something.)

She was _so_ capable of shooting people down! I felt proud.

… Well, I probably shouldn't when it was _me_ being shot down, but _still_.

I must have had a stupid grin on my face or something, because Quil deigned to inform me, "Embry, you are an idiot."

"Shut up," I responded automatically.

My imprint had turned back to the Evil Vending Machine of Doom by now, and she gave it one final shake (and a kick, too) before turning away. "Screw it," I heard her mutter. "It's only a freaking dollar."

She was a few steps away from the sucky thing when my brain finally caught up with my eyes, and I registered what was going on. "Hey!" I shouted after her. "Are you _leaving_ now?"

She stopped and shot me an incredulous look over her shoulder. "What's it to _you_?"

I stopped short at that. Well, I couldn't very well tell her she was my soul mate or something, or the reason how I knew that, because blabbing out the whole werewolf—excuse me, _shape-shifter_—thing wouldn't be a very smart idea right now. Especially not in a crowded mall.

I was still contemplating this when Quil poked me in the shoulder. "Uh, Embry," he said. "She's gone."

"_What?!_ What do you mean, she's gone?" I whirled around to stare at my friend, and then at the area my imprint had just occupied.

… only she wasn't there.

Holy fuck. I'd just imprinted, and now she was gone, and I didn't even know her freaking _name_.

The white beam of light protruding from my chest yanked at my heart. It hurt. A lot. (I needed a thesaurus.)

Quil was speaking again.

"Um, no offense, Embry," he said, looking sort of uncomfortable, "but she seems sort of… you know." His voice lowered, and he coughed. "Bitchy."

Especially since it was the first swear word ("crap" and "dang" and stuff like that didn't count) I'd heard the guy utter since he found _his_ imprint, I think I was totally justified in jumping at him and pummeling him with my fists.

Jake had been right. Quil had totally prevented me from killing Leah, and vice versa… but nothing stopped me from killing _him_.

The mall's security guards recognized me from last week and asked me not to come back again. I think they didn't like me.

And if Quil wanted to find someone who was actually a bitch, all he had to do was look at Leah. She laughed at me the whole way home.

* * *

_I need another category to put this in… ideas? (I don't like just having one category for a story. It's an OCD of mine.)_

_Reviews are appreciated. _


	2. sheil ayouneck anni

_Thanks to all who reviewed for doing so. :) I decided to put this story in the second (mini-)category of Drama. Yeah. _

_I know I said I was going to delete this story because it just wasn't working out, but all of a sudden, I got hit with inspiration for it (at a very inconvenient time, too… music lesson, anyone?), and it wouldn't leave me alone. I guess I should wait a bit longer next time before deciding I can't write a story at the moment. xD So, sorry for the inconvenience, and I'll be deleting the author's note once the story is over. Maybe, one day, I'll manage to finish it. … Maybe. xD Sorry for being so… inconsistent. x_X_

_And yes, the chapter titles are just going to be random song titles in languages other than English. Preferably Nancy Ajram songs (Arabic), but possibly others too._

_

* * *

_

If Leah was a bitch, then Jacob was an asshole.

_Leah_ had accompanied us—us as in me and Quil—out of the mall, and she'd stood in between the two of us as we left, taking Quil's place from when we were entering. (If that made sense.) She said nothing the whole time, just kept shooting me wary looks (I kept glaring at Quil, and he was still wiping blood from his nose) the whole time. But the moment we reached the parking lot, Leah sidled out from between us, glared, and ordered, "Spill."

Me (still too busy being mad at Quil for insulting my imprint): Huh?

Leah (impatiently): You and Ateara are always buddy-buddy. What'd he do to make you jump him?

Me (sputtering): _What?!_ I didn't _jump_ him! I think I'll save that for—

Leah: Get your mind out of the fucking gutter, Embryo. And shut up. I don't need to hear your sick fantasies.

Me: Don't call me that, bitch.

Quil (sullenly): Yeah, _Embryo_, save jumping for your imprint instead next time.

Leah: -lots of swear words- … -after about five minutes or so- (Me, somewhere in those five minutes: Don't call me _Embryo_!) The hell?! (Okay, so that was another little bout of cursing, but still, even so…)

Quil: He imprinted.

Me: It's just you Clearwaters now.

Leah: On _who_?!

Quil: An old lady.

Leah: o__O … -chokes from laughing too hard- (Ha. I wish. That she choked, I mean.)

Me (horrified): He's lying! She is _not_ an old lady! She's a girl, about my age, I think, and she's perfect and beautiful and—

Quil: Shut up.

Me: Now you know how we feel when you start talking about Claire.

Quil: Don't bring Claire into this!

Leah: Shut up, losers. (We shut up.) What's her name?

Me: …

Quil: He doesn't know!

Leah: … -cackle-

Quil: And he decided it would be a great idea to pummel me just 'cause I called her a bi—

Me (trying to kill him again): You BAST—

Leah: If anyone's the bastard it's you, 'bryo. (And everyone shuts up again because, y'know, it's entirely possible that Quil's my half-brother and all that.) Why's the girl a bitch?

Me: She is not!

Quil: Because she told Embry he was checking her out and called him an asshole and stuff like that.

Leah: … -more cackling-

… I'm sure you get the idea.

… Anyway, the whole way home, every time anybody so much as _mentioned_ my imprint (and the stupid thing was, that was usually me; I wanted to bask in the feeling of finding the most perfect person in the world and share that with someone… you'd think I'd learn), Leah would start cracking up again. It was rather irritating.

Which was basically why Leah was a bitch. (Literal, too; female dog, anyone?)

But _Jacob_… now _he_ was an asshole.

He was over at the freaking leeches' house again when we got back to Forks; Quil ran off to find Claire (who would've thunk it? I mean, really… and that was sarcasm, if you couldn't tell) and Leah went back to La Push, leaving me to bravely face the stench of bloodsucker (not to mention the actual bloodsuckers themselves), alone, in order to inform my alpha of my imprint.

The blonde leech—the male one—opened the door. "Bloodsucker," I greeted him.

"Dog," he returned, smiling pleasantly. "I assume you are looking for your alpha?"

I nodded mutely.

The leech turned a little bit, probably to call for Jacob, but then Jacob himself appeared by the doorway, from what I could see from my vantage point. "Hey, Embry," he said, grinning. The blonde leech excused himself and left (which was weird, because people only excused themselves a hundred years ago or something… but I think he was born over a hundred years ago, so that worked out). "Got any new clothes?"

You can't blame me for completely and utterly forgetting about the clothes. I mean, really. "… Oh," I said. "Um, no."

Jacob made a sort of what-the-hell-is-your-problem? gesture. "There's no excuse this time, then; Quil was with you," he grumbled. Or barked. (Barked. I'm freakin' hilarious.) "What happened?"

I gave him my best grin. "Well, I sort of started punching Quil because he called my imprint a bitch…"

_That_ shut him up. "You imprinted?" he exclaimed, staring at me in shock. Well, sort-of shock. The whole imprinting thing had happened a lot lately, despite the fact that it was _supposed_ to be rare, so I couldn't really blame him for not being as shocked as he was supposed to be.

"Yeah."

"On _who_?!"

I swear, if it weren't for Nessie, Jacob and Leah would have been meant to be together; they were so on the same wavelength. (Although I'd always thought 'wavewidth' sounded better… alliteration, anyone? … aha, that was more alliteration! … annnnd, I'll get back to the point now.)

"A girl," I said, to answer Jacob's question.

"No shit? I thought it would've been on a guy," he said, his tone just _oozing_ sarcasm like a slimy mud puddle. Or something. "Because, y'know, guys are totally capable of copulating with each other—"

I pondered this for a moment. "Well, they _can_," I informed him, once I stumbled upon a realization. "They just can't do it the normal way, you know, through the—"

"Embry." Jacob looked faintly green. "Shut up."

I shut up.

"And you know what I mean: Sam thinks we imprint to carry on the line, so guys can't… you know. So of course you imprinted on a girl."

"Oh, so you mean guys can't procreate with each other! Not copulate."

"Embry, that's not the freaking point here!"

"Right, sorry."

There was a pause, and then Jacob spoke again. "Okay. So, you imprinted on a girl. At the mall?"

"Yeah." Well, where _else _would I have imprinted on her, besides at the mall? I was just _at_ the mall.

"Who is she?"

I thought about this question for a moment, wondering how best to answer it, before just giving my alpha the plain and simple truth. "I don't know."

"… Excuse me?" Jacob looked at me, disbelief evident in his face.

"I. Don't. Know."

"You don't… know?" He said this as if he were saying "Are you _sure_ you're not going to go on a mass murdering spree?" to an infamous killing lunatic or something.

"Yeah. Lack of knowledge. Notable for that."

"So, you imprinted on a girl, and you don't even know who she is… did you even _talk_ to her?"

"Yes," I said indignantly. "Well, she called me an asshole and she thought I was hitting on her, but—"

At those words, Jacob proceeded to bust a gut laughing his head off at me and my "misfortune," as he called it (as if; I'd found the most perfect person in the world… how was that _misfortune_?!).

And _that_, ladies and gentlemen, was why Jacob Black was an asshole.

* * *

I met her again at Newton's Olympic Outfitters, of all places.

It had been exactly a week since I'd imprinted, and I was miserable. And you couldn't really blame me. I mean, I _imprinted_, and I didn't even know the lucky (or unlucky… depends on how you look at it; Leah certainly seemed to think my imprint was unlucky; "The poor, poor girl" had been her exact words) girl's name. I had nothing to go by besides the fact that she was blonde and had great legs (she'd been too far away for me to distinguish her exact eye color, but I _think_ it was green). I sure as hell would recognize her if I saw her again, but when I proposed to Jacob that we go out and question the citizens of Forks for a blonde girl with great legs, his exact response had been, "Dude, are you fucking kidding?"

Some alpha he was.

Nobody but the Cullens (but who cared about _them_?) and my pack knew of my imprinting. I didn't want to tell anyone else—like Sam—about it until I _found_ the girl, for Chrissake. And I _would_ find her; I just knew I would. Fate couldn't be so cruel to make me imprint and then never see the girl again, could I?

I was right about that, because after one miserable week, during which I pretty much stalked the mall's parking lot (because I decided those security guards would probably recognize me if they saw me again if I went into the actual mall itself, and they'd already asked me to leave twice; three times' the charm would suck in this case), I met her again.

It was entirely by accident, though; I didn't run into her in the mall's parking lot. Mom was tired of me moping around the house (when I wasn't at the mall, I mean), and sent me out to do some errands for her. "I'm glad you're actually around instead of sneaking out all the time," she'd snapped (because she didn't know about the whole wolf thing), "but if you're going to do nothing but sulk then you might as well go out and be useful for once." Ouch. All the women I knew were dissing me lately. (Not that I really _knew_ my imprint, but I'm sure you get the gist of what I mean.) And so I was ungracefully kicked out of my own house to go and buy some things for my mother.

I'd already gone to the grocery store (well, one of the few around), and now I was at Newton's Olympic Outfitters, looking for some hiking boots for my mother. Mom had always been an outdoorsy, nature-loving, adventurous type of person, and she refused to let her olding age (if that made sense, despite the incorrect grammar or whatever… because she was getting old, but she wasn't "old" _yet_, but she wasn't young either) get the best of her.

I was checking out a pair of boots, well, the price tags on them, looking for a nice enough pair (and dark, too; Mom didn't want white or anything), when I heard _that voice_, and if you'll pardon the overused expression, it was by far the best thing I'd ever heard in my life, music to my ears.

"No, Mike, I do _not_ want them gift-wrapped! God, what the hell is your problem?"

… I honest-to-God hoped this Mike person was not her boyfriend. If he was, I just might have to pummel him. And I didn't want to pummel anybody again. Quil was enough.

"Just asking. I have to, you know."

Ah, and _that_ was the voice of the guy behind the checkout counter, a friendly-enough looking blonde guy with blue eyes. I recognized the voice, because I'd asked him just a few minutes earlier where the hiking boots were. So my imprint was buying something here, at Newton's Olympic Outfitters… so it was unlikely that this Mike guy was her boyfriend!

I couldn't be sure, though.

… and approaching her now before she finished making her purchase, whatever it was, and talking to her… yeah, that sounded like a really great idea.

I dropped the pair of black boots I was holding and hurried over to the checkout counter, just in time to see my beautiful, wonderful imprint sign the receipt, with a sort of flourish. God, how _elegant._

The moment I lay eyes on her, the world was right again. Seriously… it just _righted_ itself on its axis. (Yeah, I know I said the world exploded when I imprinted on her… so it got back together again, okay? Just for my imprint. _That_ was how absolutely perfect and amazing she was.) I felt better immediately.

I opened my mouth to call out to her, to say something, but she turned at that moment and caught sight of me. Her eyes—I could tell they were green, now—narrowed for a moment, probably trying to place me, and then widened in recognition. She straightened, the very picture of indignation.

"I remember you!" she exclaimed. Wow, she _remembered_ me? That was great news. Great news indeed. The beam of light in my chest twitched with happiness.

Then she followed her statement up with, "You're that guy who was obsessed with vending machines or something last week, weren't you? The guy who was staring at me like… ew, are you _stalking_ me or something?!"

Mike's eyes widened along with that statement. So did mine.

"What? No!" I yelped, horrified. I did _not_ want her to think I was a stalker! (Even though, y'know, I sort of _had_ been stalking her, or trying to, what with the whole mall parking lot thing… but still!) I wanted her to think of me as… well, hell, something _good_. Stalkers were not_ good._

"Then what are you _doing_ here?" the girl demanded, crossing her arms over her chest (and what a nice chest it was… not that I was looking, of course…) with a huff, her shopping forgotten.

"_Buying_ stuff. For my mom."

"So you're not only a stalking psycho, but you're a mama's boy, too," she snorted, flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder. (It was done very tastefully, smoothly. Nice.) "That's just rich."

I was too distracted by her hair flip for a moment before the words registered. "What?! … No!" I cried out. "What are you talking about?"

"The boots are for your mom?" Mike piped up, completely unhelpfully.

"Yeah," I said, momentarily distracted. Then I blinked and glanced back at my imprint, who had a rather derisive look on her face. Someone unkind might call it a sneer, but I liked to think of it as just the slightest grimace.

"Well, whatever," she sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder again, the same one. "You're just one of_ those _guys, aren't you," she added, knowingly. It wasn't a question.

"Huh?" Needless to say, I was confused. Very confused.

"You know," she said. "_Those _guys. Utterly pathetic. Can't get a date to save their life, so you latch on to and stalk the first pretty girl you see."

… Um, no.

… And, unfortunately, she was wrong about the whole "can't get a date to save their life" thing (though she was definitely right about the pretty girl thing). If there was one thing I didn't miss about school, it was the part where girls asked me out, and I had to turn them down, no matter how pretty they were, because I hadn't imprinted on them.

… but now I had an imprint. And I would get her to go out with me. Somehow. Someday. Because it appeared she wasn't going to be very cooperative right now.

"Hey," Mike interjected, sounded slightly horrified, "that's kind of rude of you to say, L—"

"I'm out of here," she snapped, snatching her purchases—now all put into plastic bags, and I wondered what they were; she didn't seem like the outdoorsy type to me, if her (likely) designer jeans and high heels were anything to go by—and stomping away.

"Hey!" I called out, after her.

She turned around again and shot me a death glare. Hot girls with attitude. I liked that. "And _don't_ follow me, or I'll call the police on you!" she hissed, and then she was gone.

I totally would have followed her, but she'd asked me not to. And anything she said, went.

So I stood there like an idiot, staring after her, wondering how I'd botched up our second meeting.

Really. How was it possible? Did fate hate me? Or was I just that much of an incapable loser?

Mike cleared his throat uncomfortably, and I turned back to look at him. He shrugged and said, "You have it really bad, don't you." It wasn't a question.

I chose not to respond.

… Well, what? What was I going to say, "Yeah, I mean, she's my soul mate"? That would just scare him off, and…

My imprint had called him by his name, Mike. True, it was on a nametag plastered over his chest, but maybe she _knew_ him… meaning he knew her.

And I did _not_ want to scare this guy off if he knew my imprint.

"Do you know her?" I asked instead, just to make sure.

"Yeah," Mike said. "We went to school together."

"Went?"

"We just graduated last year, in the same class."

Ah, that meant she was… eighteen, nineteen. Just a few years older than me, and because of the whole werewolf thing, I looked a lot older than I really was. Age was going to be no problem at all.

Suh-weet.

"Do you know when I can see her again, or something?" I asked.

Mike looked distinctly uncomfortable again. "Well, I probably shouldn't tell you this," he said, and that got me excited (not in _that_ way… get your mind out of the gutter, dude), because it meant I was going to be told something I shouldn't have been told, probably about my imprint, "but… you're from the La Push reservation, right? You're Quileute?"

Huh. Random. I answered him truthfully, anyway. "Yeah."

"Then I'm sure you know there's going to be one of those bonfire things on the beach next week, right? At La Push? Well… a few of us—old friends and all—are meeting at the next one… I'm sure she'll be there…"

I could have kissed Mike, right then and there, but I didn't want to cheat on my imprint (even if we weren't together yet, but we soon would be, I just knew it), and besides, I wasn't gay. Instead, I just grinned like a fool. "Thanks," I said. "Thanks. A lot."

"No problem. Just… don't tell her I told you that, alright?" Mike smiled sort of nervously. "She'd probably kill me."

Yeah, she looked tough enough to do that. I loved girls with attitude. Especially hot girls with attitude. (Did I say that already?) "I promise I won't tell," I reassured him.

"Thanks," Mike said, looking relieved. "So… you're buying those boots for your mom?"

I'd totally forgotten about those boots. Not hard to believe, considering all that had just happened. "Oh. Right," I said. I turned to leave, find those boots my mom wanted and buy them, when something occurred to me. Something important, something that should have occurred to be me before, but I'd been too busy feeling dazed about the whole imprint thing to have any thoughts occur to me.

"Hey," I said, getting Mike's attention again (he'd turned back to the cash register or whatever). He nodded at me, a question in his eyes. "What's her name?" I asked.

There was a sort of long pause, and Mike looked at me, looking like he was trying not to laugh. (Why did _everyone_ feel the need to laugh at me, upon finding out how I didn't know my imprint's name? It really made a guy feel low, it really did.) "You don't even know her _name_?" he asked, looking incredibly amused.

I felt rather miffed. "No," I said.

Mike contemplated this for a moment, still looking like he was holding back laughter. Not a chuckle or something, either; _laughter_, the kind where you had to roll around on the ground clutching your stomach and trying not to crack any ribs. My life sucked; everybody wanted to laugh at me. "I know I probably shouldn't tell you this, either," he (Mike) finally said, slowly, "but you seem like a nice enough guy and I don't think you're a stalker…"

I leaned forward eagerly.

"Her name's Lauren," Mike said. "Lauren Mallory."

* * *

_Reviews are greatly appreciated. :) Seriously. I will love you forever if you review. _

_So. Er. Review, please. I didn't check this chapter over for mistakes, 'cause I have to go now (off this computer, the one with functioning Microsoft Word, anyway), so if you spotted any typos you'd like to point out, feel free to._

_In a review. -cough-_

_Thanks for reading._


	3. ah w nos

Hey, guys. I have quit fanfiction, so this won't be continued. Sorry. I didn't really have any plans for this story. But here's the part of chapter three I wrote before I quit (as some form of lousy compensation):

"Embry, you look fine, okay? Fine. Now just shut up! Let's go!"

I frowned at my reflection and pushed again at the collar of my shirt. "Are you sure? Because, y'know, this is sort of crooked—"

Jacob's hands clamped down on my shoulders and spun me away from the mirror. "Yes. I'm sure. Now let's just freaking go."

A week had passed since the day Mike Newton had told me the name of my imprint. Lauren. Lauren Mallory. What a fitting name for such a beautiful girl.

Since then, I'd spent my days mostly at Newton's Olympic Outfitters, chatting with Mike. He was actually a pretty decent guy—I'd found out that his favorite flavor of ice cream was vanilla, he thought Romeo (y'know, "and Juliet") was a wimp, and he used to like Bella Swan (now Cullen).

That subject had been sort of awkward, when it was breached, because of the whole Bella's-a-vampire thing… though I couldn't exactly tell Mike about it ("Oh, Bella. The girl you liked? Remember her boyfriend? The one she married? Yeah, he's a bloodsucking leech—you'd know the term as a vampire—and he turned her into one, too. So what grade did you pass Calculus with, again?"). So when the topic of Bella Swan (Cullen, whatever) was mentioned, I was vague. And… stuff.

… Yeah. Stuff.

Mike Newton was probably the only non-werewolf (and maybe non-vampire, too… it depended on how much Jake thought about my imprint when he was around the leeches. Probably not too much; it was more likely he thought a lot more about his own imprint) who knew about me and Lauren Mallory. Not that there was really anything going on between us to know. But there would be, soon. I could guarantee it.

I tried to bring up the subject of Lauren (and I'd never get tired of saying that name) as much as possible when hanging around Mike, but he was always frustratingly vague about her. "You seem kind of obsessed," he observed, at one point. "I'm not sure if you want to date her, though. She's sort of a bitch."

He'd quickly changed the subject upon catching sight of my face. I probably looked homicidal. Oh well.

The second day I'd gone over to the Newton's sporting goods store, I'd met the guy's mom. After hearing about how I planned to hang around there a lot more, she was quick to offer me a job, because apparently, they needed another worker. Since Bella Swan had quit last year, they hadn't gotten any steady employees.

I wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but instead, I just accepted the job.

When I wasn't at my new job, I was either patrolling or sleeping. Patrolling was the worst. Once, I got stuck with Leah, and she made fun of my imprinting the whole time.

Seriously, you're completely obsessed with her, she mocked. If you were a girl, you'd be writing her name all over the cover of your diary and drawing hearts around it.

Too bad we were patrolling to protect La Push (and Forks too, supposedly) from bloodsuckers, and not the likes of bitches like Leah Clearwater.

The days passed, and the day of the bonfire came. Jacob called me, and I quote, "a nervous wreck," end quote. Not everybody had it as easy as him in the imprinting department… all he had to do was play Patty Cake with Nessie for two minutes and they were officially in love.

When I pointed this out to him, he'd retorted, "Nessie doesn't play Patty Cake." (When you say "Patty Cake," make sure to adopt a tone of great disgust, the way most people say "feces" or "urine.") "She's really smart—she can read novels now, and she's not even one! Isn't that amazing?"

(Jacob Black was completely infatuated with the kid. He could connect practically anything with her. Seriously. I could talk about global warming, and he'd be like, "Nessie's warm! Even though she's half-vampire. Isn't that so cool?" Someone could bring up the subject of making sandwiches, and he'd be like, "Nessie made me a sandwich yesterday!" Headphones? "Did you know that, if Nessie concentrates hard enough, she can sort of send sounds through her thoughts to people, like with headphones?" Violins? "Nessie's learning to play piano with Edward, and she wants to learn violin next!"

Like I said. Completely infatuated. It was actually sort of pathetic.

Anyways, I've strayed from the subject at hand far too much. Back to the point.)

The day—evening, really—of the bonfire arrived, and I was worrying about making a good impression on Lauren. (See how much better it was when I actually knew her name?) Of course, she already thought I was a stalking mama's boy or something. But I was determined to erase that (totally false) image of me from her mind, and replace it with something true.

Jake was bringing Nessie. Bella hadn't wanted to let her precious spawn—I mean, daughter (Leah's constant stream of derogatory comments was getting to me)—go somewhere she couldn't, but she'd finally relented. Quil was bringing Claire. Sam and Emily were going to be there too, as well as Kim and Jared, Paul and Rachel, Seth, Leah, Collin, Brady, and a ton of other wolves.

Let's not forget the humans, too. Mike was going to be there. And Lauren.

So basically, I wanted to make a good impression. Which was why I was going to go to the bonfire actually wearing a shirt. Going shirtless like I usually went places (because carrying jeans in your mouth sucked enough) would make me out to be uncivilized.

Which I wasn't, by the way. Just to clarify.

But the collar on my shirt still looked wrong!

"God, Embry," Jake said, sounding disgusted, "if you're intent on sweating to death, can't you just wear a T-shirt?"

"I don't have any."

It was true, unfortunately. Who knew the whole mall thing would come back to bite me in the ass?

"Wow," Jake said, sounding annoyed. "Just… wow. Your fucking collar is fine. Let's go; I still have to go to the Cullens' and pick Nessie up."

"You know what?" I declared, completely ignoring him. "Screw this. The collar's fine."

"What have I been saying for the past ten minutes?" Jake demanded, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "If you don't want to wait, you can just go to the beach first. Go stalk your imprint."

I took a swipe at him and he ducked, laughing. "I am not a stalker!" I shouted after his retreating back.

--

My worries about my collar were completely unfounded.

I had to phase to get to the bonfire, because I lived on the side of La Push farthest from the beach, so it didn't really matter how many times I straightened my collar; I was going to take my shirt off again right after.

Then, of course, the moment I approached the beach, having just phased and pulled my jeans back on, I realized it was absolutely sweltering. Running around on a temperature of 108 degrees or something was fine during the winter, but you really sweated a lot in the summer. Add a giant bonfire, and…

Screw Jacob, but he was right. I really didn't want to sweat to death.

So I tossed my stupid collared shirt aside and went to find my pack.

(Because if I'd gone immediately to find Lauren, or maybe Mike… well, that would just look a little weird, wouldn't it? I may have been a devoted, er, imprinter… but I still remembered some of the things I'd been taught—or just learned by myself, really—about dating. And it would just look plain weird to show up and crash the white kids' party. I had to stay with the other Quileutes. At first, at least. That didn't mean I couldn't keep an eye out for Lauren. Or Mike, I guess.)

Jake wasn't there yet—probably coming over with Nessie soon—but Quil, Claire, Seth, and Leah were hanging out together at one end of the beach. A bit farther away was Jared, Kim, Paul, Rachel, Sam, Emily, and a bunch of other people. There was a distinctive gap between the two.

"Hey, Embry," Quil called, waving. (I'd forgiven him for his rude comments toward Lauren.) Claire looked up from the sand castle or whatever the hell she was making to wave, too.

"Embry!" she called, too, and then giggled. She'd finally learned how to pronounce my name properly—I'd been "Embwy" before.

Leah, lounging nearby, shook her head. "What did I tell you, Claire?" she chided.

I blinked at this sight of Leah being all… well, older sister-ly, or whatever. Then Quil stifled a snort, and I knew there was more to this than what it looked like.

"Embryo!" Claire cheered.

My eye was probably twitching. "Claire?" I said, in a falsely nonchalant tone. "I'm going to kill Leah now. Is that okay?"

Claire looked puzzled. "Kill?"

"Yes. Murder. I'm going to strangle her with—"

"I'd like to see you try," Leah snorted, as Quil covered his imprint's ears. "Shut up, Embry!" he hissed. "Don't you dare go around poisoning her mind with—"

"Who's been poisoning whose mind?" Rachel came loping up, a sullen Paul in tow. Though he didn't look nearly as sullen when she brushed his neck with her fingers. They were the first to breach the rift between the two packs.

"Hey Rachel, hey Paul!" Seth greeted them. If he'd been a cartoon character, his eyes would have been half-circles, curving up. That was seriously how cheerful the kid was. All the freaking time, too.

"Hey, Seth," Rachel said fondly, mussing his hair. It was hard not to like Seth. He was just so… likeable. (Yeah. Be amazed by my brilliant skills of description.)

"Yo," said Leah, sounding bored.

"Oh, hi, Leah," said Rachel. She sounded sort of awkward. I couldn't blame her. I mean, it was Leah. The Bitch. (Yes, that deserved capital letters.)

"Hi, Lee-Lee," Paul said, in a sort of nasty tone of voice. "How's it going?"

Ugh. If there was one thing Leah and I agreed on, it was that Paul was a complete and utter jackass. I didn't know how Rachel put up with him.

"Pretty well," Leah spat back. "Though I don't know if the same can be said for you, Paulie, considering how you're going to have your intestines force-fed to you within the next three—"

"Guys, Claire's around!" Seth and Quil yelped at the same time.

"Force-fed intestines?" Claire repeated, sounding quizzical.

"Thanks a lot, Leah," Quil snapped, swiping at her. She smacked his palm away with a retort of "pedophile."

"Y'know, Leah, if Quil's a pedophile, then so am I," Jacob said, walking up towards us, clad in just jeans, like most of us were. Except for Leah, of course. And Claire, and Rachel. Nessie followed.

Paul backed away, looking revolted. Rachel wasn't nearly as inclined.

"Hello, Nessie," she said, with a big smile. "I've heard so much about you! I'm Rachel."

"Rach…" Paul muttered. She ignored him. Good for her. She was learning.

"Hello," Nessie said. She certainly didn't look, like, nine months old, or however the hell old she was. She looked about as old as Claire already, with bronze curls and a meticulous appearance. "I've heard a lot about you too, from my Jacob. May I call you Aunt Rachel?"

If Rachel was taken aback, she didn't show it. Then again, she already knew about us wolves of La Push, as well as the leeches of Forks. So…

"Of course you may," she agreed, her smile still in place. "It's very nice to meet you, Nessie."

"I'm very pleased to meet you too, Aunt Rachel," Nessie returned.

Ugh. I was going to be sick with all the formalities. "Um, hey," I muttered, sort of weakly. "I'm going to go get a soda or something, 'kay?"

"I'll go with you," Leah added, jumping up. I was a bit surprised, to say the least. She hated me. Why would she willingly spend time with me?

"The spawn's making me sick," Leah said, by way of explanation, as we left the little group of people and headed towards the coolers, were the sodas were. I snuck a quick glance around as we walked; no sign of Lauren. (Or Mike—he could formally introduce us.)

"Ah," I said, noncommittally. I wasn't exactly pro-Insult Nessie or anything, but I wasn't exactly all for the kid herself, either.

"So don't think I like you or anything," Leah continued.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Something that faintly resembled a smile flickered across her face. "Good."

Then we reached the coolers, and she immediately went for the beer. Instead of the soda. "Want some, 'bryo?" she asked, pulling out a can of Budweiser.

I blinked. "That's illegal."

"I turned twenty-one last month. And you look old enough. No?" She popped the can tab open and took a sip.

I felt vaguely guilty, which was weird. So what if I'd forgotten Leah's birthday? I didn't like her, so it shouldn't matter.

But still. We were all part of the same pack.

That was the only reason I felt guilty: because I'd been in Jake's pack with Leah for months and months, and I still didn't know her birthday.

Only reason. Yeah.

This was going to end with Lauren saying, "You know, for a stalking mama's boy, you're not that bad."

Embry thinking: I was too flattered by the last part of her statement to register the first part.

Yeah. Sorry, guys. Bye! Have to run, class in two minutes.


End file.
